Lifeline
by Lizicia
Summary: 'Two broken people who had given up hope were trying to get something from the other, trying to rely on someone else for their misery, trying to make a whole out of their pieces.' Alternative ending to season 6 finale, Thirteen/House.


**A/N: So, I was unhappy with the finale, as I am a Thouse shipper. And I decided to write my own finale, without any Cuddy in it. Besides, we got way too little Thirteen in this episode anyway.**

**Disclaimer: Well, you know how things would go if I really owned House. So, obviously, I don't. And English is not my first language, maybe a little less obviously.**

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Two white round pills. Those two pills were the only thing between House being miserable and being a little less miserable. After all, what was the difference when the only thing that had happened since he had stopped taking Vicodin, was that everybody around him was happy. Like Cuddy said, she was moving on, Wilson was moving on and Cuddy had never loved him. Of course she _had_ but it had stopped mattering to him a long time ago.

He just didn't want the quiet anymore. He wanted someone, anyone, to be more miserable than he was so Nolan could be right, so he could feel a bit better.

"If you don't know who you just called, hang up." The sound of his answering machine startled him out of his reverie. Probably Wilson or Cuddy caring on the other end.

"You probably won't be returning to your office, so just a heads up in case you decide to – Thirteen is probably leaving."

Taub. Interesting. What's this talk about Thirteen leaving? Not possible. The puzzle that remained after that statement was enough to bring him out of his reverie. He slipped the Vicodin into his pocket and limped to the phone.

He played the message again. Taub sounded concerned, even worried. He had definitely been worried enough to call and warn him. House just had to find out what he had meant by _Thirteen is leaving_.

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"House? What are you...." Thirteen didn't manage to finish her sentence before he strode past her into her living room.

"Well, do come in." She closed the door. He didn't say anything, just looked at her.

"Can I offer you something?" Thirteen was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable under his unwavering gaze which was boring into her, looking for something.

"You are leaving." It wasn't a question.

She looked at the floor. "I'm not leaving, I'm taking some time off."

"Tomato-tomaahto. Why are you leaving?"

She let out a breath she didn't realise she had been holding and finally looked at him, defying his gaze with her own clear blue eyes. "I explained it in my letter – I need some time to think and re-evaluate some things but I will come back. This was not a resignation letter."

"I haven't read it, so I couldn't tell."

Thirteen came him an incredulous look. "How, then...?" but stopped when she realised the only possible answer to that question. Someone had told him. No, not just someone but the someone who had seen her place the letter on his desk.

"Taub told you, didn't he?"

"Oh, sure, blame the Jew. They always get to take the fault."

Thirteen merely shrugged. His defense meant that she had been right and Taub had been the worried friend, trying to help. Odd that he would care enough but maybe his curiosity was also piqued like House's at this very moment.

"Look, my reasoning in not important. I just want to take some time off."

He continued to look at her; she felt like she was being examined more thoroughly than she had ever been, like he was seeing right into her head and was starting to wonder if she would make it out unharmed.

"You're lying. You are taking time off for the same reason you were late this morning. You don't have physiotherapy today, so it must've been something else."

Thirteen kept her silence, not looking at him but walking away to the window, trying to hide her eyes in a vain attempt that he wouldn't be able to read her.

"It's the Huntingdon's. Something happened this morning. You noticed your hands were shaking? No, that wouldn't faze you this much. Something major happened."

This was making her too uncomfortable already. She turned to look at him, _really_ look this time and noticed that he looked different than usual. He was still covered in dust, there was a cut on his face and an almost manic expression on his face. This wasn't about her leaving; he would've clung to anyone who had come along. He was hurting and he wanted to make sure someone else was hurting as well.

"Yes, my hands were shaking this morning when I woke up. And then they stopped. My leaving and my hands shaking once after you drugged me with caffeine are not connected."

She spoke so confidently that he would've believed her if he hadn't seen the fear in her eyes, the way she was afraid he was going to say something that would undo her. But he wanted her to hurt and feel miserable so he kept pushing.

"No, you're still lying. You're hiding something. Your hands didn't just shake once, they shook sometime later as well. I saw them tremble when you were sipping the martinis your possible future one night stands were buying you. This morning you probably dropped something you couldn't hold on to. A coffee cup? A glass?"

She was still maintaining her mask, not wanting to reveal anything to him. He marched to the trash bin and before she could say or do anything, he had opened it and saw the evidence himself: a white coffee cup, covered in tiny blue flowers, lying there in pieces.

"It was my grandmother's."

House didn't say anything, merely looked at the cup and at her, understanding the implications of this. It was as if he suddenly had nothing to say, no teasing remarks, no sarcastic words of comfort. In those following minutes he seemed tired, worn out, even broken.

She had an unexpected feeling of remorse towards him. He had come here to drag something out of her but now he was exposed in front of her and she couldn't, she _wouldn't_ be mad at him.

"My hands started to shake occasionally some weeks ago. They would just tremble for a minute the most and then stop. I didn't know how to anticipate or prevent it. But it's starting; I'm losing control and even though I really didn't think about leaving the team, I am going to do it now. You don't need a doctor who can't control her body."

Thirteen had inched closer to him, all the while looking up at him and he saw something in her eyes he had never thought to see: she was begging him. Begging him not to tell anyone, not to mock her, not to argue. It was too much for House to handle; he could barely hold himself up, be mentally stable on his own and he couldn't stand against her when she was looking at him like that.

"I don't want you to leave."

His whisper sounded too broken to his own ears and it felt like she was not the only one asking for something.

"I can't stay if I can't be a doctor anymore. There is no point in me pretending everything is alright. Like I said, my self-pity is optional and I can pity myself even better somewhere without anyone who knows me. Why are you pitying yourself, still?"

House flashed back to the conversation they had been having at the lesbian bar and how Taub's untimely phone call had ended it. She had asked him the same question then but this time he didn't feel the need to make up a lie; it was too late, he was too tired and everything around him was still too loud.

"I have been off Vicodin, I've been in therapy for a year, I have even tried being nice to people. And you know what I've got in return? Nothing. Everybody around me has got something but I'm still a nothing. I killed a patient today. I cannot pretend I don't want to go back to who I was because then I wouldn't care she was dead. Then I wouldn't have promised her she didn't need the amputation or she would do fine after it. But right now, I'm looking for answers as to why I shouldn't take the Vicodin and I'm coming up with nothing."

"Every day I have less confidence that I won't be jumping off a roof somewhere."

She wasn't going to give him an answer, give him a reason. What reason could she have given if she lacked one that would keep her own sanity in place? He understood that. They were both asking each other for something they weren't able to give.

Instead of saying anything he suddenly reached for her and before she understood what was really happening, he kissed her. It was not romantic; there were no sparks, no _years of feelings finally unleashed_. It was hard and needy and he was relentless and she was not going to back down either. It was more like a battle, a duel between them two and both wanted to come out on top.

Once they started, they couldn't stop. Two broken people who had given up hope were trying to get something from the other, trying to rely on someone else for their misery, trying to make a whole out of their pieces. They both knew they couldn't but as long as they just continued this thing, he wouldn't take the Vicodin – just yet – and she wouldn't jump off some building – just yet. And that was more either was asking for.

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**A/N: No romance here just yet but everyone is free to think onward from my finale. And do review before that.**


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